


I Would

by Spiderlily_Writes



Series: Crimson Flower Ingrid [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Found Family, Gen, Humiliation, Nonsexual Nudity, Public Nudity, There's some non-respectful looking here, but it's light humiliation, proving loyalty, the least horny kinktober fic ever written
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:27:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26863627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spiderlily_Writes/pseuds/Spiderlily_Writes
Summary: Ingrid believes in Edelgard's idea of justice. She wants to dedicate herself to the cause. Edelgard wants proof.
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault/Ingrid Brandl Galatea, Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Edelgard von Hresvelg, Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Series: Crimson Flower Ingrid [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1988083
Comments: 11
Kudos: 41





	I Would

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! This is perhaps the least horny Kinktober fic ever written. I've been working off a Kinktober prompt list by the fabulous [Letterblade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Letterblade) which you can find [here](https://twitter.com/letterblade/status/1307041833810264065)! This is for Day 6: Weapon Endurance Drills While Naked.

“Sloppy, Ingrid!” Emperor Edelgard von Hresvelg of Adrestia calls across the training grounds. “Again!”

Ingrid takes a step back, growling in frustration and trying to center herself. It’s more difficult than usual, for more than one reason, but completing weapon drills has never been quite so important as it is today.

She plants her feet in the proper stance, focusing on the dummy before her and shutting out as many distractions as possible. The heat from the mid-afternoon sun is being mitigated ever so slightly by the sheen of sweat covering Ingrid’s body, but she still feels as though she’s burning alive. It’s hard to say, though, whether the feeling of being licked by flame comes from the sun beating down from above her, or from the knowledge that the eyes of her former classmates are roving across every inch of her completely bare skin.

As Ingrid twirls her lance through the drills she’s completed at least hundreds, no,  _ thousands _ of times, she struggles to keep her form steady and consistent. Each mistake is caused by something different, but they all share a common source: those goddess-damned voyeurs.

She steps to the side and nearly stumbles, as she catches a glimpse of Dorothea watching her, hungrily, intensely. It’s as though she wants to step onto the field and sweep Ingrid away herself. Ingrid can’t say that she’d mind all that much, but this isn’t the time or the place.

Misjudging the length of her own weapon, Ingrid slams the wooden shaft of the spear against the dummy, rather than the blade, as she sees Hubert, his eyes cold and calculating, noting every slip, every mistake, every bit of evidence that Ingrid, humiliated though she is, would be an even  _ bigger _ embarrassment to the empire.

She overshoots a thrust and ends up off-balance when she sees Sylvain, the only other member of the Blue Lion class to defect to Edelgard’s side, looking her up and down like the lecher she knows him to be. Ingrid grunts. As though she could ever expect any different from  _ him _ . 

Ingrid finishes her routine, slamming the butt of the spear into the ground and standing ramrod-straight, at attention, eyes fixed on Edelgard. She doesn’t let her gaze wander, no, she keeps her eyes locked on the gentle lavender of the Emperor’s, waiting for a response. 

Hubert leans down to murmur something to her, something only the two of them might be able to hear. He’s probably recounting every mistake she made on her drill, and comparing them to her past attempts. So far, she’s gone through the entire two-minute lance drill twenty-six times. It’s been nearly an hour. She has not been given a break to sit, nor has she been offered water, nor has she been given any clothing.

She’s been here for nearly an hour, engaging in this ridiculous charade because Edelgard demanded it, and she’ll do it for another if she has to. Ingrid will complete this drill as many times as it takes to prove herself to Edelgard and the rest of the Black Eagle Strike Force, or she will fall to the ground unconscious from dehydration.

Ingrid Brandl Galatea does not back down. Ever.

Hubert steps back from Edelgard and returns to his prior position, standing straight behind her at her right hand.

Emperor Edelgard barks out one word. 

“Again!”

Ingrid sets her feet and begins the drill for the twenty-seventh time.

* * *

In the end, it takes thirty-one complete lance drills before Edelgard is satisfied. Ingrid is called to kneel at the Emperor’s feet, and does so without hesitation. Many things can be said about Ingrid, but nobody will  _ ever _ say that she is lazy or weak. Despite her aching body and the cry of her muscles for mercy, she will  _ always _ endure. 

She kneels, head bowed, as Edelgard stands before her. There’s a hush that falls over the assembled crowd, and Ingrid is confident that one could hear a pin drop on the stone tiles of the training grounds. Then, Edelgard speaks.

“Ingrid Brandl Galatea,” she says, Ingrid’s name rolling off her tongue as though it was contoured specifically to do so. “You came to Garreg Mach two days ago, and informed me that you wished to fight alongside the Black Eagle Strike Force. Why?”

Without raising her head, Ingrid answers. “Because you’re doing the right thing.” It’s a simple answer, but it speaks volumes about Ingrid’s relationship with the Kingdom, with Dimitri, with herself, and about her honor and its preservation.

“And what would you be willing to give in service to our mission?” Edelgard asks. They’ve had this conversation already, so Ingrid has all but rehearsed it in her head, but this is an important formality, especially for the others assembled here.

“Anything, and everything.”

“If I told you that you were to tend the stables, and nothing else?”

“I would do it.

“If I ordered you handle our meals?”

“I would do it.”

“If I told you to stand in the middle of the training grounds, before myself and anyone else who chose to attend, and perform your weapon drills completely naked?” Here, Ingrid feels as though she can detect a note of wryness in Edelgard’s voice. Ingrid responds in kind.

“I would do it,” she says, and a laugh ripples through the assembled crowd. Ingrid blushes despite herself.

Edelgard chuckles lightly as well. “When I asked you that question two days ago, I did not expect such an immediate answer, though I saw your sincerity. Neither did I expect you to follow through so willingly. I am...honestly impressed, Ingrid.”

“I meant it, Ede- ah, Emperor, apologies,” Ingrid says, part of the familiar address slipping out before she has a chance to stop it. Edelgard doesn’t react. Instead, she calls out another name. 

“Ferdinand! Bring it out, if you would?”

There’s a shuffle somewhere in front of her, then the sound of approaching footsteps. She sees boots, which she assumes to belong to Ferdinand von Aegir, for she has not yet lifted her head. Ingrid feels herself begin to sweat again. Bring  _ what _ out? What is Edelgard planning?

She feels cloth envelop her body, draping down her back and to her sides, as though someone has put a blanket over her, or…

No, it’s not a blanket. It’s a cloak. A red cloak. 

“Look at me, Ingrid,” Edelgard says, softly. Ingrid obeys. Edelgard’s features are soft, now, not hard like they had been before as she watched Ingrid’s drills. “You didn’t have to apologize.”

Ingrid remains silent as Edelgard kneels down with her, so that she can properly meet Ingrid’s eyes. The Adrestian Emperor reaches out for Ingrid’s cloak and pulls a section of it around for Ingrid to see. Attached to the cloak with a thick, sturdy pin is a badge bearing the crest of the Adrestian Empire, one that matches those possessed by each of the other members of the Strike Force.

“Titles are important for soldiers, and for knights, and dignitaries, I suppose,” Edelgard says, letting go of the pin and allowing it to fall to the side once more. “But every member of the Black Eagle Strike Force is family to me, and my family need not bother with them.”

She puts a hand on Ingrid’s shoulder, and a thin smile crosses her lips. Ingrid returns it, trying to convey her gratitude and resolve all at once.

“Thank you, Edelgard.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading, I hope you liked it! Thanks, as always, to  
> [tansybells](https://www.archiveofourown.org/users/tansybells/pseuds/tansybells) for beta reading, and if you'd like to come see me humiliate myself in public in a very nonsexual way, catch me on twitter [@spiderlilywrite](https://twitter.com/spiderlilywrite)!


End file.
